Indestructible
by aykayem
Summary: When Harry and Draco are caught in a horrible accident, they find their lives turned upside-down. AU. Character death.
1. Prologue

_The world was going black around me, blurring and flickering in places; everything was numb, a tendril of warm stickiness running down the side of my face. I shut my eye against It, the misty figures moving and talking in low voices losing all sense of depth. I could barely see what they were doing as they passed by me, looking urgent and pained as they rushed to the other side of the vehicle. To what end, I couldn't recall. _

_A pair of strong hands wrapped around my shoulders - the door opened, or was it already gone? - and pulled me from the harsh confines of my prison. I could suddenly taste metal in my mouth, the scent of it heavy in the air, making it too thick to breathe properly. I gasped, feeling my chest inflate and compress, inflate and compress - it was too fast, though; I was going to hyperventilate. A flash of red crossed my vision, brighter than the rest, brighter than the splotches staining the pavement around me where I lay, disappearing before I could call out - my voice left me as a mask met my face, covering it and further blocking my line of sight. I could barely see a thing now, but as my head grew fuzzy and light, I sighed softly to myself, letting the world go black. _

_Voices still filled my ears, static and rough in their distance. They had to be nearby, I admitted to myself in my oxygen-induced reverie, or else I wouldn't be able to hear them at all. Still, I heard nothing more than snatches of conversation between pairs of them - '...critical condition…' '...Crush syndrome...long's he been trapped here?' '...of an hour, at least…' '...got to amputate…' - that made no sense. I wasn't trapped, I wasn't crushed. Nothing to amputate. Not unless they meant…_

_I forced my eyes open, rolling to one side slightly - I watched a pair of men, bulky in their starched whites, lift a man, pale and twitching, from the other side of the car - '...going into shock…' '...got to do it now…' - and frowned to myself. There was too much blood, so much blood; more of that warmth trickled down against my hand, not mine. I knew it wasn't mine, couldn't be. It was his._


	2. Chapter One

Harry awoke in a hospital bed surrounded by people whom he cared about, and who cared about him. Finally lucid after what must have been a week or so, he peered at their worried faces through blurred vision, trying to find one in particular, before abruptly thrusting his hand out in a silent demand for his glasses. No bedside table, nowhere to grope for them; somehow, the familiar circular frames found themselves in his hand almost immediately anyway. He slid them on, blinking away crusts of sleep and the raging headache that throbbed dully in the front of his head, and began peering more readily, green eyes darting as they scanned for that head of blond hair.

But nothing.

"Where's Draco?" The words were distant, unattached from his voice and completely unfamiliar. Hermione, her hair strangely neat in its perfect curls, glanced nervously over to Ron, clutching more desperately to her husband's hand. Harry swallowed deeply, frowning suddenly before turning far too quickly, an IV pinching where it was slid deep into his wrist; he winced, checking it briefly, now distracted from his initial thought process. Hermione continued to frown at him, words on the tip of her tongue that she refused to let loose; beside her, the redhead refused to look at his best mate, focusing on his shoes and his wife's hand in his. Neither replied, nor did the other Weasleys lingering far behind where the Golden Trio sat: Fred and George, looking serious as they ever could in their full business attire - though in the most obnoxious plaid the pair could find; Ginny, looking nervous and awkward as she twisted her own wedding ring about her finger; little Rose, peering out the door for wherever her tiny brother, barely big enough to crawl, had ran off to; Bill, his arm around Fleur, both looking stoic at the far back of the room.

It was a massive family, extended through marriage to grow even larger - so unlike Harry's own. Harry's family included a set of dead parents and the man he loved, a soccer player so well known he was stopped in the streets more often than either of them could even count; the brunet had learned to ignore it whenever Draco was halted for an autograph, though he had never quite gotten past how famous his lover was. They'd been together far too long, after all, even longer than Ron and Hermione had been, but neither of the latter pair was a household name.

Still, Harry stared around, green eyes nervously desperate for a glimpse of his partner.

"Harry, he was…"

The words only half-registered in his ears, mostly passing over; his hand closed over a buzzer, turning it over briefly as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen or felt before. He pushed the indented button, listening to the extended drone as it resonated in his ears; then he pressed it again, simply testing it out. Satisfied that it worked well enough, he leaned back against the righted pillows of his hospital bed, shifting to get comfortable. Easier said than done when he felt like he was lying on a rock. A nurse clicked into the room, seemingly in a rush, sliding past the masses of red haired onlookers to stand, wringing her hands, by his bed.

"Mr Potter?"

"Where's Draco Malfoy?"

Ron made a noise in the back of his throat, and Hermione elbowed him, shooting him a dark look; behind her, Ginny made a wry sound almost like a laugh. Fred and George, exchanging a look, took their opportunity to define the phrase 'laughter is the best medicine', and promptly burst into a chorus of laughter, clapping each other for a private joke no one else got. Perhaps they were only trying to lighten the dank mood in the stark white room, tiny window streaming with sunlight, but Harry was focused.

"Well, sir...that is...I mean…"

"Out with it, if you could," he replied dryly, staring intently at her, eyes boring into her very soul; she only grew more awkward, nodding as she began stepping back mumbling some stutter about how she'd find out and send someone to let him know.

Silence had once again fallen in the room, broken only when Bill's watch chirruped some alarm, causing his arm to slip away from Fleur, the blonde giving him a perturbed look as if she didn't want to be left alone in such a place; he stepped up to Harry, clapping him on the shoulder momentarily.

"Sorry, mate, we've got to be going. Glad to see you're up again; take care of yourself," he told Harry, brows furrowed slightly around his facial scars, the only sign he had ever had a nasty spill of his own, years back. A hailstorm had done that to him, visibility too low for any sort of safe ride on a motorbike; Bill had still insisted upon it, coming out with half his face ruined beyond reconstruction surgery, and numerous bones broken. The wedding photos were horrendous.

Not moments after the eldest pair had left, Ginny took her place beside the bed, giving his hand a tender squeeze accompanied by a weak, sympathetic smile - she was still awkward about the romance they had back in school it seemed, something Harry hadn't cared about in ages. He returned the smile momentarily, if for no other reason than Ron sitting right there. She left, long hair falling in a sheet as she turned the corner, not bothering to give a final glance back; the twins peered after her before stepping up, beginning a spiel about their latest undertaking of joke shoppes, a franchise spreading wide across the country and beyond. Something about a Weasley product in every home from here to Egypt.

Harry simply nodded, eyes now falling to Hermione and Ron. It was only a matter of time before they left him too, leaving him alone in that room that reeked so of cleaning products and death. And still alone without his lover's lithe hand in his.

Rose and Hugo returned then, Hugo trapped in his sister's arms most awkwardly; he gave a shriek of glee at the sight of his parents, squirming until Rose set him down beside their father with a grunt of effort. The brunet felt old suddenly, a pang of what couldn't be striking him; Draco always refused to have children, saying simply that it was too much work to find a surrogate, and adoption paperwork was utterly tiresome. Even if it weren't, even if Harry went to that trouble, the blond vetoed the idea still, saying he wasn't home enough. Where was he now, then?

He stared for a moment, unaware he was gazing off into space, as he tried to recall how he had found himself in that position, that place that felt like a sterilised rock with its pristine white sheets and absolute silence. He couldn't recall it, he realised after a moment, frowning to himself; it was only when Hermione reached over and touched his arm, obviously concerned, that he snapped from his thoughts, looking at her over the frames of his glasses.

"You were in a car crash, Harry. You and Draco...you were both injured, though his injuries were more obvious than yours. Someone...found you outside the car, the police said. Draco was still trapped," Hermione explained, hand still on his bare arm. He could feel the hairs rising up nervously at her words, gooseflesh rippling over his arms and legs; Harry stifled a shiver as he realised she was alone - Ron and the children had left sometime when he was staring into the distance.

"...but you're okay now, Harry," she continued, trying to reassure him as she pulled her hand away slowly, forcing a smile; her hand moved now to play nervously with her hair, twisting the loose curls into tighter ones, a habit she had recently obtained. It suited her, he thought to himself, head falling to one side curiously. Finally, she nodded, as if deciding that that was enough of a speech for the time being, and turned slightly, heading off. "Like Bill said, Harry - take care of yourself. I'll come visit you again in a few days, alright?"

He must have given her a nod or some acknowledgement, because she gave him a genuine smile, the curve of her mouth as sweet as the crinkles at her eyes, before leaving; unlike Ginny, she glanced back to him before disappearing from sight, sending him a brief wave. Then he was alone again.

Harry lay back against his bed, closing his eyes momentarily as he tried to force himself to remember the circumstances under which Hermione's story had come about - a car crash, she had said, in which they were both injured. No surprise, Draco and Harry rarely travelled without one another. Carpooling was simply more convenient, and gave them some time to actually spend alone, without interruptions of phone calls and televisions and interviewers. To no avail, however; his mind seemed blocked off, sectioned off against the memories of what they had been doing, where they had been going, how they got hit. Who they had hit. How they were. Details, both minor and major, evaded him much as details of where Draco was, dancing in teasing circles around him, unseen by others.

He opened his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling until he finally drifted away, falling away into a deep sleep not unlike the coma from which he had just awoken.


	3. Chapter Two

Draco found himself alone when he woke up, staring up at the plain white ceiling with disinterest and a strange numbness cast over his entire body. He realised, sitting up slowly, that his back was in more pain than he had ever experienced before, everything down to his fingertips and eyelashes burning with agony. A tickle in his throat caused him to abruptly cough into the crook of his elbow, almost causing himself more pain than if he had simply remained lying down; his chest tensed, ribs aching excruciatingly, almost enough to make him want to vomit. Grey eyes grew wet as he gasped for air past the injuries, fighting bile rising in his throat.

"You're finally awake, Mr Malfoy?" A nurse with blonde hair, tucked up under itself into a loose bun, smiled at him curiously, clearly aware of the answer. He shot her a dark look; if he could have told her to go fuck herself, he likely would have. Unfortunately, the tickle remained in his throat, leaving him to sit there awkwardly, hoping he would be able to rid himself of it. The young woman, obnoxious as she was, offered him a glass of water then, one he snatched from her hand and downed greedily, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth in an attempt to double check it was gone.

"You were sleeping a very long time; had a visitor or two while you were out," she continued to chirrup odiously, puttering around his room and straightening things like a maid. He had no doubt she had probably been one at some point, if not in a past life, then in recently past years; she simply stunk of peasantry and the lower class, the type of rot who had to work for a living, just to get by each day. Draco could have retired the day he was hired, and he would still have enough money to live on. Family fortunes were beautiful things.

He rolled his eyes, ignoring her as she continued to speak, and simply gazing around the room, trying to remember how he got there. Thoughts of squealing tires, brushes of hands, and horrifying wreckages came to mind, sending a shiver down his spine that hurt more than anything else. The nurse clicked her tongue at him, coming up behind him to fluff his pillow. "How're your legs today, Mr Malfoy?"

The same as they always were, Draco wanted to reply, simply swallowing the words and the lingering taste of bile from his tongue; instead, he slowly leaned forward, running his hands down his lower extremities, massaging the way down all the while. Closing his eyes, he sighed, half-looking forward to when he could leave and get back to his regularly scheduled jet-set life, Harry's hand in his own whenever they could. His hands continued downwards, squeezing a handful of cheap cotton sheets into fists.

He blinked, frowning to himself as he turned grey eyes down to where he knew his legs were. He could feel them, feel the sheets moving against his bare skin as he shifted to reach lower without causing himself myriad aches. Muttering profanity to himself, to which the nurse cast her eyes away, looking almost a bit awkward, as if someone else should have been there to listen to him, and not her, Draco cast the bedding aside, gaping down at the spot his legs should have been; where the hospital gown ended, so did his extremities.

His throat tightened painfully, making breathing hard; he tugged the hem of the gown up just enough to reveal bandaged knees, nothing beyond them but a feeling of phantom nerves remaining behind. The urge to vomit returned, stronger than ever, and he rolled to one side immediately, heaving up the contents of his empty stomach onto the tiled floor.

"Are you alri-" The nurse moved closer to him, meaning full well to do her job and take care of him, but he looked up, shooting her an even harsher look than before; glowering daggers at the poor young woman, he wiped the residue from the corners of his mouth and righted himself with trembling arms before replying.

"Get out. Find me a doctor, and then get the fuck out of my sight," he told her, one hand balling into a tight fist as he aimed his glare elsewhere, directing his hatred for the world at that moment out at the sun smiling down on all the world from its cloudless blue sky, content in its existence high above humanity. The blond wasn't sure when the nurse heeded his warning and left, but she had certainly done it silently enough, leaving him alone with his thoughts. His hands travelled once against to the bandages of his stumps, feeling them and testing the waters of exactly how much he still felt there.

He winced as he nudged one painful nerve ending, ignoring the warm stickiness of blood through the linen. So much for his world-renowned soccer career; his fifteen minutes of fame had ended as abruptly as they had begun, ended by some idiot with a vehicle and a lack of appreciation for the finer things in life.

If he ever found the culprit, they would die by his hand, consequences be damned.

Draco had forced himself to sleep soon after his realisation; sometime during those few hours he had managed, someone had come by and cleaned the room so it appeared as if nothing had happened. At least the whole lot of them were capable of that. Not so much telling him anything, but at least they could make it seem like he was trapped in some hell of a hospital that remained perpetually unchanging while its patients went round the bend slowly.

A voice cleared its throat beside him, to the other side of his bed; he cast a dark look, wondering if it wasn't one of his more disliked relatives. The expression faded as grey eyes fell onto green, suddenly visibly softening as Draco threw himself into a painful embrace. "Fuck, Harry. This place is bloody horrendous, you know that? It's almost as if they've no idea who I am…"

Harry ran his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, only half listening to the complaints, knowing full well they were simply to keep the silence out; he himself had been tempted to talk to himself - a habit he developed back in school for no apparent reason at all - but had resisted the urge. He drew his IV closer to him, keeping it more readily available, lest he accidentally pull the needle out again; the first time had been more than enough to make him remember to keep it close by.

"You don't have a toothbrush, do you?" Draco finally enquired, turning his head away briefly as he made a face meant for the horrendous state of his personal hygiene, normally impeccable. Harry dutifully shook his head, not looking like he much cared about how bad his love's breath was; he still leaned in for a kiss, one that the blond pulled away from with a sneer. "I'm not letting you kiss me until I can clean myself up, Harry."

His lover looked rather hurt for a moment before the blond rolled his eyes, pressing a brief kiss to one tanned cheek, muttering something about that being all he was getting for the time being, and pulled away, righting himself back in his own bed. Smoothing the sheets, he sighed to himself.

"I guess you've heard."

"Heard what?" Harry echoed, looking genuinely confused - of course, that may have simply been his typical expression. He had never been known for his intellect; that was always Draco's role in things. The blond momentarily rolled grey eyes skyward before giving a long exhale through his teeth, tapping his fingernails against his knee thoughtfully before tugging the bedding back again, folding it precisely as if it would distract him from the distinct lack of limbs.

"Holy shit, Draco," Harry breathed, barely audible in his shock. He reached out tentatively, stopping only when the IV gave resistance, and promptly reached forward with his other hand to touch the place where his beloved's shapely legs had been not a few days before. "What the fuck happened?"

Draco scoffed, deep in his throat, and turned away, folding the covers back to hide the evidence, no longer wanting to be under the scrutiny of even his boyfriend; he shrugged to himself, mumbling a reply, "What, you haven't been told what happened? Must've taken quite the hit to the head if you can't remember that." His tone tried at teasing, tried to flirt with the edges of a chuckle, but failed; his misery was evident even through the attempt. Harry simply regarded him, silent and observant, trying to scry grey eyes for the hidden depths of emotion he knew were there.

"We were in an accident, Harry," he began wryly, voice near cracking in its calm hysteria - Draco was a master of keeping his emotions in check, masking them instead with anger most often. "An accident in which some bloody _wanker_ decided to hit us hard as he could, then disappeared without a trace. Apparently no one managed a single glimpse of who it was." His teeth were grit, words hissed between them as he struggled to keep himself even tempered. The last person he wanted to blame for it was Harry, after all, even if he had just lost his entire livelihood.

The brunet, the younger of the pair, knew whenever Draco had something more on his tongue, some biting remark meant to spite and anger, or even to wound; it usually worked. He had a tendency to ostracise, his lover did - there was a reason he had kept few friends from their school days. He refused to interact with anyone he considered below him, limiting most of his friendliness to just a small handful of people; once he had fallen in with Harry, those who had the same, unchanging values as Draco initially had before developing some element of a heart. As far as things went, not even half his team liked him all that much - as far as they were concerned, he was nothing more than a star player to be exploited, and to front the team.

And those days were probably over.


	4. Chapter Three

The minutes blurred into hours, hours into days, days in weeks, until finally both lovers were released from hospital, given a clean bill of health save the obvious physical disabilities; Draco had taken to residing alone in the Manor, his mother doting on him as she had when he was a young child. His father was long since dead, something the blond was more than grateful for - he couldn't have dealt with Lucius' innate displeasure at his son's failings, whether they were his fault or not. Still, it was clear in his very demeanor that Lucius lingered even after death, haunting Draco into a state of misery previously unknown to the young man.

It worried Harry, to be quite frank; he couldn't stand to see his beloved in that state of mind, nor could he be arsed to pussyfoot around like any word he might utter would break the other man. They were grown now, had been through thick and thin - love was supposed to conquer all, wasn't it? No matter how he looked at it, though, Draco was clearly too bothered by everything his situation had brought to him to actually try to spend time attempting to be happy.

In fact, it was almost infuriating.

How exactly someone could simply go about throwing their life away, just because of one little issue was beyond him - maybe it was just because he couldn't relate in the slightest, maybe it was because Draco had inner demons that needed far more than an exorcism to lose, maybe it was just because they were so different. Rarely had Harry ever noticed the polar opposition between them, the juxtaposition of everything from personality to physical appearance; he had merely put it behind him as something that attracted him more. Now that it was the sole reason he was so annoyed half the time, affections were strained at best, adding to the plethora of issues they seemed to have since that night.

It wasn't to say that he never visited, that he never went out of his way to see his lover - they were just as attached as ever before. He had sat himself on a couch, comfortable and firm beneath his still aching body, and waited for Narcissa to wheel out the blond, taking solace in the monotony of a newscast in the meantime. There was something abnormally fascinating about their tone of voice, the way it was capable of luring someone to sleep in a way, like the way he could always fall asleep on the bus if he was sitting beside a window.

"...have lost star player Draco Malfoy recently to a horrific traffic accident involving an unknown vehi-"

The television abruptly clicked off, a sudden, awkward sound of a woman clearing her throat keeping the drawing room from going entirely silent. Harry looked up, blinking sleepy eyes at her curiously, as if he hadn't realised what was yet happening.

"Harry, please," Narcissa began softly, looking a bit put out. She refused to meet his eyes then, instead turning them anywhere but there - to that plant, to the way that portrait wasn't quite square. It was like Ron's words back when they were still young and naive had some truth to them: that she looked like she had a nasty smell beneath her nose at all times. "I know you mean well, and I'm sure Draco appreciates it, but," And here her voice dropped, causing him to lean forward slightly, straining to hear her drawl, "It will hardly help him get better if he has to hear that rubbish all the time."

"Sorry, ma'am," he replied, trying to keep the stings of irritation from his voice. She simply gave a sigh, exasperated no matter how she may have attempted to hide it, and strode from the room, allowing her son and his long-time lover their alone time. Harry managed a smile as Draco wheeled himself in slowly, still unused to the chair to which he was confined due entirely to his own lack of inability with crutches. He was, after all, a man who had never so much as broken a bone in his life, never fractured anything, and rarely needed any kind of medical attention. A damn lucky bloke, if Harry did say so.

"Hey, baby," he greeted, forcing himself to be just as chipper as he ever was - like nothing had ever happened - as he rose from his seat, padding over to drape his arms around Draco's shoulders, clad in his usual attire of silk. The blond shifted slightly, resting his head against Harry's arm in greeting, sighing to himself.

"Come all this way yet again, Harry?"

"Who wouldn't love to see you day after day?"

Draco just gave him a look, blank and curious, grey eyes clearly trying to deduce if he was telling the truth or not; he was, of course, though even more truths of that nature lingered on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be uttered at a moment's notice. Finally, he seemed to deem that an acceptable statement, shrugging and motioning Harry back to his couch so they might relax together; if nothing else, they could still sit, their bodies easily fitting into the negative space created by the other's.

It was a bizarre sight to behold, watching the slightly older man draw himself from his chair and onto the couch beside Harry, grunting with the effort he wasn't used to exerting; everything was more difficult for him now, from simply getting around and sitting with the ones he loved to getting out and about, doing the things he once thought he would never have to go without. And, of course, soccer was a relative impossibility, unless the period of depression slid by - a doubtful though, much as Harry wanted it to be so - and Draco began to work with a physician towards the inevitable goal of walking again.

The room was filled with an inconceivable silence, broken only by the sounds of their breathing; Harry could feel himself growing awkward as he rested his cheek against blond hair, the scent familiar in his nostrils each time he inhaled. Finally, Draco spoke, drawling quietly the words as if they didn't matter in the slightest: "What were you watching?"

"Nothing," Harry shrugged his free shoulder, pressing a kiss to his lover's temple. "Wasn't even listening to it."

Somehow, Draco always knew when he was lying, though. Something in his pulse, perhaps, or the way in which he replied, his tone of voice, the nonchalance with which he addressed the topic, when really, he wasn't addressing it any differently than his boyfriend had. Regardless of what it was, Draco never took well to it - possibly some reminiscence of his father remained in the idea of a lie: after all, it was no surprise to anyone how much he hated the man. The only reason either of the pair had attended the funeral was because it was poor press if he didn't attend so much as the ceremonial burial for such an important man. Draco still offered no comment to the interviewers - Narcissa later passed it off as simply grief that caused him to act so; living with the two of them for as long as she had, the woman knew a thing or two about how to address and spin things so it appeared as if there was no familial distress.

"It was about me."

Typical Malfoy form. Who needed to mince words when they could be direct about absolutely everything? Sometimes it was endearing, but most of the time, it was just bothersome; Harry felt a shiver go down his spine as Draco stared at him, trying to out the truth.

Finally, he shrugged again, looking off towards one of the large windows, and the grounds beyond, green and glorious. "Yeah," he mumbled, "It was."

"What'd they say?"

"They made it sound like you'd died."

"May as well have. I'd probably have been better off."

Harry shifted immediately, arm tightening around Draco as he glanced down to the other man, brow furrowed. He stammered for a moment or two, floundering over exactly what he was meant to say to that - what _did_ you say to that? It wasn't like he had made some small joke, a comment on something minor and meaningless - he had just openly stated he would be better off dead. Head swimming, he exhaled deeply, trying to gather his thoughts into one place; his hand slid away from Draco's shoulders, falling to his lap momentarily before running through his hair. He needed something to do with them, something to distract him.

"I should go," Harry suddenly blurted, refusing to look at the blond. His hand twitched, and he brought it into a tight fist, keeping it out of Draco's line of sight as he picked himself off the couch, sighing to keep his breathing even. "I'll...call you later, I guess."

Draco pulled himself up, using the back of the couch as leverage as he tucked the loosely pinned hems of his trousers out of his way; "Harry, wait," he started quickly, leaning forward in an attempt to snatch at his chair - the gesture seemed to do nothing more than push the device further away from him, his own weight nearly pulling him half over. He made a noise of frustration, grunting as he shoved the chair away, fighting the urge to pitch the nearest object at Harry's head. "Harry, for fuck's sake - wait!"

"I'll call you later," he replied, more insistent as he waved over his shoulder, gesturing for Draco to stop bothering. That said, another moment passed in silence - only broken by Harry's footfalls towards the door - and Draco was left alone, seething in his own bitterness. He had brought it upon himself, he knew - not his injuries, but that Harry was leaving him. Maybe not forever - not this time - but one time would turn to another, and then another, until finally the most he would remember of the man would be the back of his head, messy black locks sticking up whichever way they wanted, and no way to smooth them down.

It was only a matter of time: inevitable, sure as anything.


	5. Chapter Four

Harry sighed, head in his hands, for what must have been the thousandth time since he left the Manor for the warm, homey aromas of Hermione and Ron's home; it was everything the Manor wasn't, and maybe that was precisely why he escaped there. Or maybe it was simply because his best friends lived there, their children rushing around while Hermione prepared the three of them tea, just like old times. She stayed otherwise silent, preoccupied with keeping herself appropriately distracted. Never since their days back at school, spending evenings sitting in the common room telling jokes and playing chess, had she worried so much about Harry. It was probably just wishful thinking on her part, hoping that when she and Ron got together in their final year at school that it would be the end of their teenaged drama, that Harry would no longer be plagued with worries of Draco.

From hatred in first year - some childish miscommunication about Harry having poor choice in friends - to a heated competition nearly every year. Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly to herself at the memories of how they used to bicker so intensely; they used to do anything they could to get in the other's face, going out of their way for some kind of smug retort in regards to the other's failings. When exactly it turned from a healthy competitive streak into some kind of misplaced affection was far beyond her or Ron, though her husband had hardly appreciated it. Without fail, the youngest of the Weasley brothers always quipped how Malfoy was stealing his best mate, laughing it off as some kind of joke that the twins always enjoyed; despite the smiles and laughs the comment got, Hermione always worried that maybe there was a bit more to it.

Of course, for the past decade or so, Ron had done nothing _but_ joke about it, leaving the poor woman to imagine that it may just have been her imagination running wild. Too many books, Ron might explain it as, to which she'd chuckle and swat him playfully. For the time being, however, she would simply occupy her time behind the scenes, watching and waiting for anything that might help.

"C'mon, mate. You can't let that bloke get you down," Ron told Harry behind her, clapping a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. The brunet gave a slight shrug, as if he didn't want to be touched, but the silent protest went unnoticed. "If he's really that down on himself, maybe you should just leave him be. He's still got Mummy-dearest anyway, right?"

Hermione clicked her tongue in disapproval at his remark, slightly biting even with the chipper tone; her husband had never made much of an attempt to hide his dislike of the Malfoy family. Something about them being distantly related, and the Malfoys being 'utter twats about it', to use his words. Of course, in all likelihood, Ron had simply wanted Harry to get over what he still considered a momentary fixation and marry his little sister. Not that it would ever happen. Not while she kept another man's ring on her finger.

"Just because he still has his mother around doesn't mean he doesn't need anyone else, Ron," Harry started, giving the ginger an appraising look. "He still needs me. And I need him." Hermione smiled slightly to herself, appreciating Harry's loyal affections as she set the tea down between them, pouring two cups and a third for herself, settling down. Neither young man acknowledged it more than a brief nod of thanks, Ron immediately taking a pull of his tea black; Harry took a moment to distract himself with cream and sugar.

"If he wants to be fatalistic, I say let him. C'mon, Harry, think about it. You really need that in your life?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes over to Hermione, as if she would understand his mentality and agree with every word of it. She didn't, naturally, and rarely let Ron think she did. Her only reply was a matched roll of her eyes, turning her attention from him down to her tea.

"Who says I have to need it? Is that what keeps you and Hermione together?" He retorted, tone somewhat snappish and curt as he gestured towards his lone female friend, clearly offended on her behalf. The woman opened her mouth to protest, but Harry simply continued, rising from his chair. "I love Draco, I always have - I know you don't exactly _accept_ that, Ron, but you'd think you could at least try."

The youngest of the Weasley brothers went as red as his hair, ears as heated as his cheekbones. "What're you talking about, mate? You know I support whatev-"

"Who're you kidding, Ron? You've been seething every day since Ginny and I broke up. Like I was the only one good enough for her." Harry shook his head, sighing in frustration. "I was never good for her. You and I both know she could do far better; you just don't want to admit it. It's safer to have your little sister date your best mate - at least you'd know where you stood with the in-laws."

Hermione's lower lip caught between her teeth as she watched Harry pace in front of the table, teacup half-empty. Her husband's eyes were averted, both from her and from Harry; he looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't form the words to make things better. Finally, the real thing that brought them together sighed again, running his hand through his hair as if trying to fix it - a failed attempt; very little _could_ help it - and threw up his hands in surrender.

"With or without your blessing - your help - I'm going to fix this thing between me and him." Green eyes blazed as he stared intently at his friends, the only two really remaining from their time at school, then turned on his heel, leaving the couple alone with their thoughts. The silence was left unbroken until the clink of a teacup against a matched saucer stole Ron's gaze up to his wife; she sighed softly, refusing to meet his eyes for a moment.

"What, don't tell me you agree with him, Hermione?"

Finally, she met his eyes, her own wet with tears threatening them. "You can't just accept that he was happy, Ron? That he _is_ happy with Draco?"

"He's a git, 'Mione," Ron started, trying to keep his tone far from snapping. "You know it just as well as I do - he's always been a git. He thought he was better than us from day one, just because he's got that bloody _surname_. Like the Malfoys are any better than everyone else, just because they've got a bit more money than the rest of us."

"Please, Ron! You can see it plain as the nose on your freckles that he's changed over the years - he said it himself." The tears threatening to fall, threatening to roll down the curve of Hermione's cheeks were more prominent now; she held them at bay with a deep inhale, her hands shaking as she clutched at Harry's discarded cup.

"Yeah, he's changed - lost his father, became a _bigger_ git with a mummy complex, and still treats me with the same disdain he's ever managed! Just because he's some great football player with...I don't even know...Leeds or what have you. Anyone can kick a ball around, Hermione." The roll of his eyes was met with a harsh stare, the cup held with white knuckles.

"Sometimes, Ronald, you _infuriate_ me."

It was then that Ron realised he might have said something wrong.

Draco's own words echoed in his mind almost every waking moment following Harry's unexpected departure earlier than week; he couldn't get them out of his head, just the same as he couldn't get the sight of his lover's back out of his mind. It had all been so abrupt - one simple slip of the tongue, and it looked like his entire life was falling apart. Even more than it had been.

He shivered, almost violently, where he lay in bed, regarding the ceiling with a certain disdain usually reserved for any of the Weasleys. It was as if it was mocking him, the simple off-white glowing down at him with what looked like far too much cheer. Maybe it was just the pain medication getting to him, though - how could a ceiling be mocking him? He rolled his eyes, dropping both hands to cover his face, hiding the twinge of pain from that deriding roof so high above him; it had seen more of him - and of Harry - than anything else ever had. If walls could tell their stories, he knew that these ones would likely have a harlequin romance on their hands.

Maybe it was because of how alone he was that time around. Maybe it was just because of the way he lay by himself, alone in the darkness and the chill, refusing to surround himself with warmth that should have been Harry's arms. Refusing to replace the feeling of his beloved's touch with that of blankets or his mother comforting embrace.

His voice broke on the next exhale. Whatever he had done to his life, whatever ways in which it was falling apart - they were all his own fault, of his own doing. Perhaps not the car crash that had stolen his legs, but it was his fault he had few friends, if any at all - he had driven them away long ago - and it was his fault even Harry was leaving. His friends were probably having a good laugh about it right then, over a pint or two; laughing to themselves over what a wreck Draco Malfoy was becoming, his life flushing itself down the drain.

He wasn't going to stand for that, he decided abruptly, shoving himself up to a sitting position, grey eyes glaring out into the darkness, the glow of sunlight poking through his dark curtains. He wasn't going to wheel himself around like a pathetic lump - he was going to take everything back. It was in his blood, after all. Malfoys never gave up, not even when things were darkest, when the only light was far behind them.

His light was right there in front of him - he just had to grab it.


	6. Chapter Five

Narcissa had told Harry that next morning, upon his call asking if he could see Draco, that her son was out - a shocking statement to hear, considering Draco hadn't been much for going out as of late - though apparently he wasn't so much 'out' as he was 'at the hospital'. Of course, that didn't stop Harry from catching up to him, pestering the head nurse sitting idly at the front desk for his whereabouts. At first, she had refused - he wasn't family, per se - but after a lengthy discussion with the brunet, the young woman had finally given in, shrugging as she pointed out a rehabilitation clinic down the hall.

When Harry poked his head in, he was only slightly surprised to see another nurse with the blond, one hand on his back as he was eased along a set of parallel bars. Draco had never been much for upper body strength - Harry was always able to pin him easily, no matter how much of a fight was put up. All in good fun, of course, but it irritated Draco like no other. It was clear, even from the distance at which Harry now stood, distractedly scratching the scar on his forehead, a reminder not only of his recent accident, but of the one that stole his parents from him, that the blond still didn't have much to his arms. The nurse was helping him more than Draco likely wanted, judging by the way his teeth were gritted as he carried himself along, white-knuckling the bars with each 'step'.

And with each 'step' came a cheerful comment from the nurse, some encouragement that didn't seem to do much more than make Draco want to punch the poor man out. Harry couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he padded into the spacious room, rounding the other rehabilitation machines and assistances until the nurse acknowledged his presence with a bright nod, calling out a greeting: "Hello, sir - do you have an appointment?"

"No, I'm just here to see Mr Malfoy," Harry replied with a smile. He watched Draco's expression go from seething, where the blond was clearly trying to figure out some way he could hit the annoying nurse without his hands free, to surprised, staring over in Harry's direction with hidden relief that made his elbows buckle. With a shrill cry of shock, he crumpled, the only thing saving him from a painful trip to the ground being both the nurse's sudden reaction and the harness that held him up.

"I think that's enough for today, Draco. Why don't you say hello to your friend? Maybe we can try again in a few hours?" The nurse started, tone chipper and condescending. Back was the rising urge to kill visible on Draco's tightened lips as he gave a curt reply, hasty fingers undoing the harness as his chair was wheeled back to him; by the time Harry was at his side, the blond was firmly seated back in the familiar assist, looking forlorn.

"Can't believe you're here," he mumbled, the words muffled in one hand, propping his chin up. "Why would you even bother? Don't you have things to do?"

"Nothing more important than coming to see you," Harry replied, smile still on. "How've you been? Last time I saw you, you wanted nothing to do with this place."

"I had a change of heart." The reply was snappy, obviously hurt by Harry's disappearance, short-lived as it was.

"And it's clearly got the best rehabilitation programme around?"

"Let's go with that." Draco began wheeling away from the bars, and in that moment his lover was ahead of him, Harry paused, watching the muscles of his arms ripple with every movement. Maybe he wasn't quite as weak as he had been before - it seemed determination fueled Draco, running through veins thicker than blood.

He hurried to catch up, hands easily taking up the handles at the back of the wheelchair to speed up their pace incrementally. "Sorry I disappeared," he started as he walked, ignoring Draco's protestations that he could do it himself, "I had some thinking to do."

That seemed to get Draco silent, sitting back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs as he waited to see where he was being dragged off to, and what more of an apology Harry was going to offer.

"I shouldn't have taken off like that."

"It was for the best," the blond replied crisply, offering no more of an explanation - after all, how would he be able to tell Harry that it was their falling out, brief as it was, that provoked him to take his life back? "I want something to eat."

Surprisingly, Harry didn't seem to question it,nor did he chase the topic. Instead, he simply turned them both down the hall, leading away from that sterile room with its bars and the like, and towards the sunlight gleaming and beckoning them outside. "How about that cafe down the street?"

"Fine," Draco replied, keeping his sigh short, a brief expulsion of air through still-gritted teeth. He did like the cafe, it was true, but the last time he had been there, it was when he was still a household name to be adored, not someone to be pitied. He couldn't let that get to him, though. Step one was already under way; he had nothing to fear going in there. He had to prove that nothing bothered him, that nothing could drag him down.

He straightened up in his chair, glancing back briefly to shoot Harry a renewed smirk; the very sight of it was enough to make Harry grin again, genuine and sweet. They continued in silence, the nurse at the front desk watching them leave with some curious interest visible on her face, not unlike an expression she would have made upon realising that they were likely more family than she initially anticipated.

They took up their regular place in the cafe, outside beneath a large, billowing umbrella blocking the sun from irradiating Draco's pale skin with its rays; what little tan he had gotten from the past season had dissipated back to near white during his time in hospital, leaving the juxtaposition between his own skin and that of Harry's particularly noticeable when they held hands across the table, Harry's calloused thumb grazing the top of Draco's hand as they waited for their meal.

The few passers-by, all of whom seemed to recognise Draco for his fame, were nervous about approaching, only one going to the trouble of quietly wishing Draco the best with his recovery; a weak smile crinkled her bright eyes as he forced a small, grateful smile and thanked her. Harry simply shot the girl a grin, clearly the more grateful of the two, ignoring his boyfriend's mutterings about fans.

"Shouldn't you be pleased that they still care about your well-being?"

"They'll forget my name in a month, I promise you."

"Just because you're not Beckham, don't get your knickers in a twist," Harry smirked, nodding to the waitress as she set down their respective meals with a bright grin and a chipper accent, near indecipherable - Scottish, Harry guessed idly as he tucked into the food in front of him. Draco simply rolled his eyes, thanking the girl as she hurried away to do her job.

"I never tried to be Beckham, Harry. Nor Pele, nor anyone else. I'm me, plain and simple. And now, the only thing I'm going to focus on is regaining my livelihood." The brunet leaned his chin in one hand, smiling slightly, the way he was wont to do whenever he regarded Draco in silence, one of the few times he genuinely _was_ quiet. Hermione had always been awestruck when she saw it in action; Ron, simply disgusted. Draco, as always, paid it no heed, used to the admiring stares; it was only after he took yet another large bite of his salad, and Harry had only taken one bite - left uneaten while he gaped adoringly - that he glanced up, giving him a disbelieving look. "And really, Harry - eat. You look like a scrawny wretch."

Some retort about Draco looking far thinner than he lingered on Harry's tongue, but he bit it back with a chuckle, digging into his food. He really did just enjoy looking at his lover, admiring the nuances of his appearance and personality. It was incredibly cheesy, so said Draco every time he caught him, and far too mundane, but he secretly enjoyed the stares. Even so, his public persona barely allowed for Harry's hanging on, let alone adoring stares - the tabloids had once taken it upon themselves to write some cheap trash about Draco's sex life, a story that had gotten to Harry for weeks. It was only after the blond insisted British tabloids barely had a grain of truth to them that Harry let up and let it go.

Ever since, though, they had taken it upon themselves to keep their romance relatively under wraps.

The meal went by quickly enough, followed by Harry hailing them a cab, and an unadventurous ride back to Grimmauld Place, where the pair of them promptly dumped themselves atop the nearest couch; they fell easily into their typical position, curled against one another in a tangle of limbs. The silence that followed them around, words unneeded after so many years of being two sides of the same coin; they knew what was on the other's mind regardless of whether or not it was mentioned, simply through propinquity.

At some point, however, the bliss had to end. Harry's mind wandered to that fateful night, the one that nearly tore them apart at the seams, literally and figuratively; he lay staring at the corner where the ceiling met the wall, peering at it distantly, as if it might reveal all the secrets his mind held. Licking dry lips, he let his eyes fall back into focus behind circular frames before speaking.

"Draco, what happened that night?"

"What do you mean?" The blond inquired, frowning up at his lover in the dark drawing room of the house, ancient and decrepit. Draco always fount it rather homely himself, but Harry had grown attached to it - the home of his dead godfather - so he never commented. Now that the silence was broken, drawing grey eyes away from the portraits hanging on the walls, seemingly staring down at them begrudgingly, he found it far easier to simply ignore them.

"The night we got in that...accident. When you lost your legs…" Harry began quietly, one hand idly stroking Draco's side, soothing and affectionate, "What happened?"

He scoffed quietly, letting his hand fall to Harry's inner thigh. "How can you not remember that? I mean, you were driving." Harry said nothing, continuing to stare off into the distance, as if meeting his lover's eyes would divulge some deep-seated secret he wanted to keep to himself; giving a soft sigh, Draco continued, "Look, it's not like I remember all that much either. We were chatting one minute, and the next…"

He paused, glaring momentarily at a particularly offensive portrait of the woman he knew to be his own grandmother - Harry's godfather was some distant cousin of Draco's, after all - before snapping out a final biting remark. "The next, I was pinned, only half-conscious, while sirens blared in the background. You weren't beside me at that point," he recalled distantly, taking on a taciturn tone, quiet and clipped. "Don't know where you went, but it wasn't beside me. Then everything went black again. I only remember snippets."

The brunet simply pulled Draco closer as he trailed off, back into the familiar silence they were strangely comfortable with, resting his head against soft blond locks. The corner grew more and more interesting as they sat there, Harry mentally struggling to recall anything. He remember waking up in hospital, and he remembered getting into the car. For some reason, though, the entire ride in between was a blur, only brief comments and pealing sirens floating in and out - he couldn't have been that injured, though. They let him out so soon.

He closed his eyes then, not bothering to remove his glasses - not intending to rest more than a few moments there with Draco - and tried to remember something. Anything.


End file.
